Breaking Molds
by mango19
Summary: Claire ponders the week she spent after that Saturday while waiting for John in the parking lot.
1. Default Chapter

Title: Breaking Molds

Author: Mango

Rating: PG, I guess?

A/N: This is my first Breakfast Club fic … I'm not really sure if it's worth continuing. Some comments either way are welcome, and appreciated.

What was it the basketcase said? "When you grow up your heart dies"? When the words came out of her mouth Claire never thought anything of them, chalking them up to more of Allison's bullshit. But now, standing in the rain exactly a week later, she never thought she could have grown up so fast.

When she left the school the week before, she made it a personal goal to try and be more accepting of people. Try not to judge people based on people they do or do not hang out with. Not to judge based on the brand of clothing, or the seemingly disarrayed outward appearance. It was her project to build on herself, make herself a better person. Donating her last year's Versace boot's to the local women's shelter was just not cutting it.

So this week she had put herself on the line. She had made an effort to track down Allison in the back stairwell sketching and have lunch with her. Her friends thought she had gone crazy. One even suggested seeing a therapist. She believed the words "You should see my therapist Dr. Dean, he's a total hunk and he helps work out your issues" came out of the girl's mouth. Trying ridiculously hard not to roll her eyes at a therapist who insisted on being called by his first name, she politely declined.

She met with Brian in the library and they studied together after school. She actually found that she really enjoyed his company. Once she got through the geeky babble that came out of his mouth, he actually has some really interesting things to say. Educated, important world ideas that she never would have been exposed to if she hadn't met with him.

Claire also went to Andrew's meet that happened on Thursday. The same meet that his knee finally gave out and he was rushed to the hospital. She followed the ambulance and was granted access to his room hours after he was admitted. He had informed her that he would not longer be able to wrestle because so much scar tissue had built up within his knee that the damage was permanent. Apparently he was lucky to get away with just a slight limp. She had stayed that night for hours, talking with him. He seemed happy that she was there. When she left shortly after midnight he asked that she call Allison in the morning and inform her has to what had happened. She agreed.

Over all, Claire was pleased of her "progress". It had taken a lot to stray from her usual crowd and reach out to new people. In all honesty, she felt relieved. Almost free from the bindings that her old life restrained her to.

The one thing that was continuing to nag at her was John. When she arrived to school on the Monday following that fateful Saturday he was nowhere to be found. She looked for him all Monday and he never showed up. Just to make her not worry anymore, he showed up for shop class on Tuesday. He passed her in the hallway with not so much more than a sideways glance. When she waited for him after his class and approached him, he had shrugged her off like last week's news. And perhaps she was.

So, she figured, maybe her heart wasn't dying, per se, perhaps it was just breaking. She knew, logically that she hadn't grown a lot since the week before, but she felt she had. Standing out in the rain, leaning up against one of her Daddy's Benzs, she waited for him to get out of detention.

Apparently all that time fixing her hair was put to waste, but she couldn't give him that chance to walk past her again, pretending not to see. She wasn't sure which hurt more, his scathing remark in the hallway, or watching his back as he walked away. She had also noticed that he earring was back to the plain silver hoop that it had once been. That hurt, too.

When the door opened and the few students who were lucky enough to get Saturday detention trickled out, John was the last to leave the school. He spotted her immediately and stopped in his tracks. He looked down at his shoes, as if gathering strength, looking at the rain bounce off the steel toe. By the time he sauntered up to her, he was soaked through, too.

"I don't suppose you're here to see Dick, are you?" He said, plastering the defensive, sarcastic smirk on his face.

"No," she stated looking into his eyes, despite the stinging rain. "I came to see you." She bit her tongue, at this point, to prevent herself from saying anymore. She wanted to give him a chance to explain himself.

"Well," he said, equally as bland as his first statement, "Sorry you wasted your time."

_Well, apparently the explaining himself idea is not going to happen_, she thought to herself.

"Well, Bender," she stated defiantly, "Who's the bitch now?"


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: This one's a little short and didn't come to me nearly as easy as the first. Maybe it's a sign  Please keep reviewing, let me know what you think.

"How dare you." John replied, Claire could have sworn she saw fire in his eyes -- actual flames. "You don't know anything about me, Princess. If you knew what was best for you, you'll walk away right now."

Fury built inside Claire, in her mind he should have known better. "Maybe you should stop telling me what's best for me. Christ, leave that to my parent's, God knows they do enough of it." She had meant to add in that she was hoping for more from him. Maybe somebody to stop looking at her like she was a China doll that needed to be protected, but he interrupted before she could.

"Cry me a fucking river, Cherry!" He yelled as he looked down at her. She knew she must look a mess, but could do nothing but stare at the finger he stuck in her face to emphasize his words. All she could do was look at him and try to understand. "You know what? I'll save you the trouble of having to make the decision." He said as he turned on his heal and started to walk away.

She ran after him and caught up with him only steps later. "John!" She yelled through the worsening storm. "Talk to me, will you?" She said. She really did not want to beg, but certainly did not put the option out of the question.

"Fine. Then listen. Stay away from me – stop looking for me at school. Stop staking out my classes. And for Christ sake, stop waiting for me in the freezing cold rain! Christ, look at you! You're shivering. Go home, Claire, it's too nasty out here for you."

"I can handle it!" She yelled, looking into his eyes trying to tell him that she understood what he meant. But it was only when he only shook his head and walked away, that she let tears mix with the rain that was stinging her cheeks.

Hours later when she finally returned home, she was soaked and chilled through. "Honey!" her mother called to her as she was ascending the stairs to the top floor of the house. "Just look at you!" She gasped.

"Don't worry, Mom," Claire replied, icy cool. She looked down at her mother who was at the bottom of the steps "Nobody saw me."

"Claire, you know that's not what I meant!" She said, sounding almost offended, but not quite. "What happened?"

"Nothing, Mom. Absolutely nothing. I'm going to take a bath." She called as she hurried up the steps leaving her mother to stare at her disappearing feet in awe.

Claire ran a hot bath. A scalding hot bath, at that. She grabbed a copy of her favourite magazine and sunk into the steaming tub letting her body be enveloped by the lavender smelling bubbles. This was her favourite past-time, she loved the spend time alone, just thinking. It was amazing how people would leave you alone when in the washroom for mass amounts of time. She always relished the time that her parents weren't pestering her and her friends weren't trying to track her down. This was it.

But today, somehow the steaming hot water did nothing to warm her. Somehow she still felt cold. She wondered if this is what it always felt like. She had never been in a situation before where boy had said no. And it felt dreadful! He was there, right in front of her, and yet so incredibly out of reach. She could have sworn that she felt her heart ache – physically ache.

Even her favourite pyjamas didn't cheer her up. She smiled as she put them on. She figured everybody would picture her favourite pyjamas as silk and expensive but little did they know. She shrugged into her brother's old rugby shirt and sat in front of her bay window. She loved this spot, she figured if she tried to calculate the amount of time she spent there that is would be astronomical. She pulled the shirt over her knees and rested her chin on them.

The window faced the river, and in the daylight she could see the woods that extended beyond it. But not tonight. She had turned off her lights and lit candles in the room to minimize the glare. She stared out into the darkness hoping for some sort of epiphany. The rain had ended and brought with it an eerie calm that enveloped the house. Or perhaps just her.

Steam lifted off the river like an offering of the most primal kind. And on the dock, where as a child she used to play, stood John Bender. Her breath hitched in her throat and she could do nothing but stare at him. Was she hallucinating? This kind of thing never happens in real life. It took her a moment to realize that he was staring at her, too. Slowly, she stood, pulled on a pair of threadbare jeans and quietly descended the stairs.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: This story is kind of taking on a life of its own, I'm not sure where it's going to go next. Please review.

When Claire approached the dock she plastered a smile on her face, determined to keep things light. "Fancy meeting you here, Bender!" She called as a greeting. When his response was just a wry smirk and to continue with his unnerving stare, she realized perhaps this was not the time. "What are you doing here, John?" She asked, quietly, seriously.

She knew that the sadness she was feeling was showing in her eyes, that was one thing she could never hide. Her eyes were always so expressive and at this point she cursed them. He looked down at his feet and replied in almost a whisper, "I don't know."

She nodded silently as if letting him off the hook and proceeded to roll up her jeans. She rolled them to her knees before looking up at John who was staring at her in curiosity, if nothing else. She offered up a small smile and walked over to the end of the dock and sat down, letting her feet be immersed in the cool water.

"How's the water?" He asked but she could feel his movement behind her and she knew he was already taking off his boots.

She smiled, this time big and bold into the darkness, before trying to bring it in control. "Cold, but I like to show off." She quipped. John snorted a laugh behind her before joining her and dipping his feet into the water silently.

She wasn't sure how long they had stayed there, physically only inches apart. Every now and then their bare feet would brush each other and a bolt of electricity ran through her. Is this how it always feels? She thought. Maybe, this was how wanting somebody felt. She couldn't remember wanting anybody.

John pushed his hair back with his hand and sighed dramatically looking up at the sky that was beginning to clear. "I can't do this, Claire." He said, rumbling quietly.

"What, sitting here like this?" She asked, know what he meant, but wanting to much for him to stop talking. Just stop talking. Two seconds ago everything was perfect. How long ago has it been since everything was perfect?

John ignored her remark and continued, "I can't give you what you need." He stated seriously.

Claire shot up like a bullet bring half the river up with her, and consequently on John's lap. He said nothing but rose with her, so they were both standing there on the dock, soaked from the waste down with there jeans rolled up to their knees. "You!" She yelled, emphasising it with a finger to his chest, "You might know more about what _I _need if you stopped being so fucking macho and asked. I don't need you to commit to me! I don't need you to introduce me to your friends! I don't need you to take me home to your Mommy and Daddy!"

John's eyes turned cold, because he knew that they had both thought about what would happen to her in the Bender household. He turned on his heel and walked awy and through back "I don't need this."

"Oh, yeah?" She called after him. He stilled as if to hear her out. "I don't _need_ you either, John. But I sure as hell want you. And at this point, I'll take what I can get." He turned back and walked toward her like a mission. She had tears welled in her eyes when she spat, "And I hate you, for reducing me to this."

When he reached her, he framed her porcelain face in his hands. He stood there for a few moments just touching her face, looking at her as if studying her. Trying to memorize every contour, every crease her face had to offer. She suddenly felt very insecure that she had no makeup on.

"You're so fucking beautiful." He stated quietly, with no flare or gusto, just amazement. One of the tears that were building in Claire's eyes escaped and ran a treacherous route down her cheek. She cursed its existence.

He brushed the tear away with his thumb. When she opened her mouth to say something, he placed his thumb over her lips to silence her. She could taste her tears on it. "I have to go." He said quietly before dropping a kiss on her forehead and turning on his heel.

She couldn't help the bitterness that was building inside her. "I guess you won't be 'considering' me, will you?" She spat out.

He turned to her, almost violently, and put a hand to her face. He looked straight into her watery eyes and said, "Don't compare yourself to them, they're nothing compared to you."

He turned around and quickly walked away, and she thought she heard him say, "But then again, neither am I."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Every time I start out a new chapter, it always ends differently then I anticipate it.

Please review and let me know what you think.

It had been three weeks since she last saw him. Okay, that was a lie. Three weeks had past and there was no sign of him except his occasional presence in the hallway. She didn't count that because he never saw her. Or never acknowledged that he saw her. So, it had been three weeks since she saw John Bender and she was happy for it. Her feelings had begun to fade like the pink lines in the sunrise and it was going to be a beautiful day!

When she decided to skip class to go shopping and return to school with her designer bags, she hadn't meant to walk by the principal's office and get caught again, it just slipped her mind. And when she got sentenced to Saturday detention she was angry, I mean, who goes to school on a Saturday?

On Saturday, when she freaked out at her mother because her favourite skirt wasn't clean, it was simply because she wanted to wear it that day. It was comfortable and practical for sitting in a classroom all day, and plus, it was her prerogative, wasn't it? She had nobody to impress but herself, and she wanted to look good for being stuck in that dingy library again.

When she strolled into the library she tried to put the "I hate my life, I hate Saturday detention" look on her face but her muscles just wouldn't cooperate. She looked around at the faces that sat with her and recognized nobody. Not even Allison was there. Ever since Allison and Andrew had got together, she stopped showing up. John was always late, so she didn't worry. Not that she was there because of John. She was there because she was skipping class again.

When Vernon walked in and announced "Okay kids, everybody is here and here is what you will be doing all day …" she zoned out. What? Hadn't John been punished to, like, a million Saturday detentions after the one they were all in? There had to be some kind of mistake.

"Um, Mr. Vernon?" She asked raising her hand. "Aren't we still missing somebody?"

"Are you questioning my authority, Miss?" He asked aggressively. "I know when all the slackers are here, and if one was missing I would know about it." He stated and stormed out mumbling something about what the world was coming to.

After all day of mind-numbing boredom she figured that her life was officially pathetic. She had spent an entire Saturday in the library with four jerk-offs who got into a locker room fight and one who had got caught scaling the walls of their precious institution.

When she arrived home she treated herself to a tub of Haagen-Daz vanilla fudge and sat at her bay window and stared at the dock that John and she had been on weeks earlier. She thought of the look on his face and the heat radiating off of his calloused hands and shivered.

She sun was setting in the sky and the beautiful colours that were in the sky were blinding. Instead of being her logical self and thinking about the pollution that was encouraging these colours, she allowed herself to be wistful, thinking of the beauty of the world and the sadness that can so easily accompany it.

She thought of John Bender again, his upbringing, and the hate that must reside in his household. She worried about his well-being and wondered if he still thought about her. She liked to think of him sitting in his bedroom looking at the earring she had given him and thinking of her. But she new it was just a pipedream, John Bender never pined over anybody.

She sat there until the wee hours of the morning trying to will John Bender back to her, but he never came.

The next morning came too soon and she felt troubled and uneasy. She knocked quietly on Vernon's office door and it opened easily. He was sitting at his desk, seemingly undisturbed. "Excuse me, Mr. Vernon?" She asked. When he raised his head she continued. "I just, I'm here because of John Bender, sir. I'm worried about him, and when he wasn't there on Saturday …"

He stared blankly at her for a moment and then finally said, "I didn't know you and Mr. Bender were friends." There was another pause, when Claire didn't respond to the baiting remark he continued. "Mr Bender's business is none of your concern. If you're interested, you should ask him yourself."

"Mr. Vernon, please, I just, I need to know that he's okay." She pleaded. For the umpteenth time that month she cursed John Bender for making her do this. Making her feel this. Making her care.

"Mr. Bender is fine, Ms. Standish, now I suggest you move on." He stated cleanly and promptly returned to the papers at his desk.

The words that came out of his mouth were meant to encourage her out his office, but she wondered if they could have meant more. Maybe it was time to move on. If only she knew how.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Sorry it took so long to update, overtime just about killed me. Please review and let me know what you think.

With intentions of forgetting about Bender, Claire decided she should head for the mall. And like a lab rat that never learns their lessons, she ended up back in Saturday detention. After sitting all day in the presence of the school's not-so-finest, she made a promise to herself, right then and there, that it would be the last time she would do something so stupid as to get caught skipping class.

She left detention with the wretched feeling of wasting a good pre-summer beach day on one lousy pair of Gucci shoes. When she left the building the sun was setting in her eyes and she looked up as if to thank God for small miracles. Making her way to the parking lot in the front of the school she noticed the silhouette of a person leaning up against a motorcycle next to her car. As she approached, she found the silhouette to be none other than John Bender. She couldn't control her stupid stomach from doing flips at the sight of him, but thank goodness for her she had enough sense to control her brain.

"New wheels?" She asked, squinting into the sunset.

"I guess," he replied, shrugging off the coldness that was in her voice. "Wanna come for a ride?"

She stared at him then, noticing that he took the time to bring two helmets with him. She stared directly in his eyes as if trying to read him. She took the time to slowly lean against the passenger side of her car, leaving at least 3 feet distance between them and cross her arms, keys still in her hand. If she had any brains at all, she would have just replied with a simple and concise "No." But of course, logic in that department seemed to always fail her, so instead she settled on "Where have you been, John?"

"Around," he replied, as nonchalantly as if he were talking about the weather.

"You know what?" she asked, still staring in his eyes. "That was the wrong answer." She said decisively as she brought herself up to standing and headed around the car to the driver's side. Silently cheering herself on she put the right key in the lock when she heard him.

"Please, Claire," he rumbled quietly. When she looked up, as if to see if he actually said it he repeated, "Please."

She froze there, in the unlocking position and asked "Why?" In all honesty, she didn't care what his answer was, just a real answer. An answer with some sort of substance and, maybe, even some heart.

When he replied "Because, I have something I want to show you," she made up her mind. Pulling the key from the lock she walked back around her car to him and his motorcycle. When he handed her a helmet she looked at it and smiled. It was a plain black helmet, more beat up than anything else, but there was a shiny purple star sticker on the side. "So I know which one is yours," he replied before she could comment.

She let that comment slide, because from the look on his face he was mortified that it had slipped out of his mouth. She put the helmet on her head, and to her surprise it actually fit her. He smiled as he took the chin strap and snapped it closed. He then put his helmet on and heaved one leg over the motorcycle. He looked back as if to see if she was actually going to join him. "You coming, Princess?" he asked tauntingly. Hell yes, she was coming.

She mimicked his actions in hauling her leg over the motorcycle, there wasn't much grace in that action, but she didn't care. She couldn't believe this was actually happening. When the motor started, she instinctively threw her arms around his waist and clasped her hands in front of him. She could see him start to laugh before they sped off onto the street.

Feeling the power of the motorcycle beneath her and hanging onto John Bender, she didn't think she had ever felt so free or alive in her entire life. When she finally mustered the courage to look over John's shoulder at the road ahead of them, she noticed her earring in his ear. When they stopped at a red light, she fingered it, as if letting him know that she noticed. The light turned green and he gunned it and started laughing when she gave a yelp and returned to her previous position of holding on for dear life and huddling behind John's broad shoulders.

When the motorcycle stopped in a gravel parking lot, she knew they were somewhere in the North side of town. The North side wasn't a bad area of town, really, but in comparison to where Claire was used to living, she was a little uncertain as to why they were here.

She knew that contrary to popular belief, John's parent's actually lived in the most upper class neighbourhood, which just goes to show about judging people. "Why are we here?" She asked quietly, looking around at her surroundings.

In typical wordless John fashion, he grabbed her hand and led her into the building. The climbed three flights of stairs and she was winded when they reached the top, but John seemed rejuvenated. Almost excited. He took his keys out and pushed one violently into the door marked 307 and turned. He opened the door and backed out of it, allowing Claire to enter first.

"This," he said, as if proving a point, "is where I have been."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Done! Finished! I have an idea for another one, maybe. Let me know what you think of this one.

She walked into the room with hesitation. She smirked to herself because this was the first thing she had done in the past week that she did with hesitation. John gave her a little shove to move her along and closed the door after them.

The room was big, with high ceilings and hardwood floors. Big windows lined the far wall that made it seem as though the outside was brought inside. The walls were painted a dramatic blue and the white furniture was functional and minimalist. To the left there was a tiny kitchenette separated from the main room by only the countertop.

John led Claire to the white loveseat and placed himself across from her in the chair facing the windows. He leaned across to the coffee table that was separating them and picked up a picture and handed it to her.

When she looked at the picture she saw John with his arm around an elderly woman. And he looked happy. Actually, truly happy. When she looked up at him he seemed sad and pensive. Not a word escaped from her mouth, it was his turn. She had tried everything and this time, it was his turn.

"The woman in that picture was my father's mother." He stated quietly. "A week ago she died from cancer in her lungs." He stopped here, and she reached out as if lending strength. When he put his hand in hers she pulled him beside her in the loveseat. She sat cross-legged then facing him and he continued. "She was one of the only …" He hesitated here and seeming changed his mind. "We were close. This is, was, her place. I used to come here and paint with her and she would tell me all about her life in the wars and how much she loved my grandfather."

"Why did you bring me here, John?" Claire pushed gently.

He sighed dramatically and leaned his head back to the back of the loveseat and spoke. "I guess I just wanted to show you, wanted you to know that my life, my family, is, was, not completely devoid of caring." When he looked his leaned head over at her, she noticed the shadow of a bruise that traced his jaw line. She reached up and touched it and he sighed, pulling away.

"When she died," he continued, "She left me all of this, everything she owned. When my father found out he was livid." He paused dramatically. "I have never seen him like that. And I've seem him angry. That night I packed my bags and swore I would never go back." They sat in silence for moments after, and she smiled thinking she had never heard him say so much since she knew him. He looked over at her and smiled softly as well.

"On Monday I had a meeting with Vernon and the guidance councillor and we all agreed that because this is my second year in senior year and I only have one credit left, that if I went to all my classes and "behaved" I would be "reprieved" of my Saturday detentions." He finished with a snort of laughter and she smiled. She for one was happy that the conversation had lightened.

But the reality of the situation quickly fell upon her and she hated what she had to do. But if she was going to survive another day, she had to do it with no questions, she had to have no doubts as to what the situation was.

"John?" She asked quietly. When he turned his head he had the look in his eyes, silently begging her to give him more time. "John, why did you bring me here?"

He closed his eyes, as if gathering the strength he would need to proceed. "Last week, when I came to see you, I knew she was going to die. I went to see her that night, I knew she wasn't sleeping because of the pain. So I went to go see her, and she asked me to paint for her. She couldn't anymore, she wasn't strong enough but she loved to watch me paint. So, I asked her what she wanted me to paint. 'John, you're such a sad boy' she said, 'Paint me something that makes you happy.' So I did."

He paused and took a couple of deep breaths before continuing "She saw the end result and asked me what I was doing. Why was I pushing happiness away instead of embracing it? Then she told me that they short twenty years she had with my grandfather, was enough love to fill a lifetime. Her lifetime. She didn't need anybody else."

He rose and took her hand leading her to a door, when he opened it, she could see that it was his bedroom. In the middle of the room was a large bed and beside it on the bedside table was a book, "Tartuffe" by Moliere. Claire burst out laughing. John looked at her and realized why she was laughing. "What?" he responded sarcastically "Brian loves his work."

While laughing, Claire noticed an easel covered with canvas in the corner of the room by the windows. She went to is as if drawn to it. When she reached the easel she looked at John who nodded ever so slightly.

She knew when she lifted the canvas that the painting would be of her, but what she saw shocked her. It wasn't the Claire that everybody knew, in her designer labels and carefully drawn on make up. No, this was vulnerable Claire, sitting in her bay window with her brother's rugby shirt on. It was Claire, with no make up, flat hair and boys clothing. And in the painting, she was beautiful.

She didn't know how or when but tears were streaming down her face when he turned her to him. He gathered her into his arms and buried his nose into her hair. "I'm sorry" he whispered "I'm so fucking sorry." He continued, kissing her hair. "I wanted to tell you. I swear to you, I did, but how could I? How could I ever be with you when it would bring you that much closer to him?"

She looked up at him, her eyes beginning to dry when she touched his cheek kissed him. She felt like she had finally come home, and the heat growing in her might just be enough to warm her frozen heart. She pulled away slightly and whispered against his lips "You're not your father."

He smiled softly before saying "And you're not your mother." She nodded slightly before closing the small gap thinking, that with each other, eventually they just might start to believe it.


End file.
